Page 15 of Emma's Element

Love, an inner voice screamed at her. Of course, who didn’t want to be loved? Emma would be thrilled if she had someone look at her the way Logan looked at Annika. Or someone who protected her the way Graham protected Natalie.

Emma thought again of the pictures of that one particular actress with Marcus. She had been looking up at him with adoration evident in her expression in several of the photos. But never once had she seen Marcus with that same expression. At least not until today when he’d held her hand against his chest. There had been an intense look in his eyes. Emma had the fleeting sensation that he was going to kiss her. But she squelched that thought in an instant. Marcus Rayne would never be interested in her like that. She was way too different from the women he was used to.

She’d seen the numerous photographs splattered across social media and the salacious headlines. Constantly portrayed as a Hollywood playboy, he supposedly went through women like sand through a sieve. And they were all gorgeous, successful, confident women. She wouldn’t go so far as to say she wasn’t successful; she had a new career she loved, but her previous career had drained the confidence right out of her.

Leaving the Coast Guard under the veil of a scandal had left her reeling. She was aware that lack of confidence affected her interactions with Marcus. She was often quiet, allowing the silences to stretch as she lost herself in her thoughts and insecurities. And yet, when she pulled herself out of her timidity and engaged with Marcus in conversation, she’d truly enjoyed herself. He was easy to talk to, staying engrossed as if what she had to say was genuinely important, and his body language conveyed that message. Unlike the photographs posted of him with his “dates.”

At lunch the other day with the women in their group, Jolene had been scrolling through post after post of Marcus with various women. They’d had a good laugh over the salaciousness of the headlines.

“They make everything sound so sleazy,” Annika commented, dipping a French fry in ketchup.

Emma felt a little like she was invading his privacy by searching through all the photographs of him but had to agree with Annika’s assessment. “After getting to know him a little better, I’m pretty sure every word is complete hooey.” And if she hadn’t come to that conclusion with just a few conversations with him, it was definitely evident in his mannerisms.

The friends had spent far too much time analyzing those pictures while eating.

“Look at him with this woman,” Natalie held her phone out for them all to see the picture. Marcus sat next to a woman outside of a café. “He looks so disinterested.”

He wore jeans and a black t-shirt which hugged his physique, showcasing his glorious muscles. Jolene was muttering something about arm porn as Emma examined the photo. “I’ve noticed that a lot in these pictures,” Emma remarked. “He’s often remote, leaning as far away from his date as possible. And there are never any pictures of him making eye contact with the woman.”

“How can he make eye contact with them when they spend the majority of their time on their phones?” quipped Jolene.

“Is she trying to fly or something? Look at how her hands flap when she talks,” Natalie joked.

Jolene snorted. “I bet he can never get a word in. She’d probably just talk right over him.”

Emma looked closer at the picture. He was completely removed from the tableau. He sat back, one leg crossed horizontally over the other, an arm draped across the back of an empty chair. He faced the street, his body angled away from his dining companion. He appeared to be more interested in watching the people around him than the fluttering woman at his table.

When he shared a meal with Emma, his posture was entirely different. He sat forward in his seat, elbows on the table, utterly focused on her as she talked. And he conversed with her as well. Emma smiled, remembering the time he’d nearly knocked over his beer as he talked excitedly about a stunt he’d recently enacted, illustrating with his hands. His eyes shone brightly while sharing, an expression of openness she’d never seen in any of the pictures.

“This one is just as bad,” Maddie said, showing them another photograph. He was walking beside a different woman, appearing just as detached. “The space between them could rival the Grand Canyon.”

“Aw, but he remains a gentleman, still opening doors for her,” Natalie crooned, her expression softening. Emma smiled to herself, remembering the time she called him out on his manners. He’d credited his mother for molding him into a gentleman.

Annika nodded. “True. He’s a sweetie.”

Jolene swiped through a few more pictures. “He doesn’t touch any of them.”

Emma found that to be true as she paged through photos on her own phone. There were no pictures of him touching the girl. Not like he did while escorting Emma out a door, his hand brushing gently against the small of her back. He didn’t offer them his arm, he didn’t hold their hand, both of which he’d occasionally done for her. Even when he wasn’t touching her as they walked, his shoulder brushed up against hers, the space between their bodies becoming more and more minuscule as they got to know one another.

Maddie sighed. “And where is that gorgeous Hollywood smile of his? He smiles all the time for us. I wonder why there are no smiles in these pictures?”

The pictures never did catch him smiling at the woman. It was as if he’d isolated himself from them, both physically and emotionally. It looked like a lonely existence, and Emma’s heart twisted for him, making her wonder what had driven him to act that way.

And yet, when he was with her, his mannerisms were widely divergent. Emma wanted to believe he was just being a gentleman with her, even as she still tingled from when his hand had been in her hair. Not to mention the gush of moisture she’d felt in her panties when he’d kissed her palm. The heat in his eyes had been scorching, something she’d never perceived in the thousands of photos of him. She couldn’t help but wonder, why her?

She thought of all the times he’d touched her. Her back as they passed over a threshold of a door, or a brush of his hand against hers. Even those moments when he’d push a strand of hair behind her ear in such a tender motion. But surely that was just him being a gentleman. Right? What more could it possibly be?Nothing!

Of course, he never treated any of the other women in their group like that. He never went out of his way to touch Jolene. And she was much more his type than Emma. Jolene had grace and beauty and would fit in perfectly in Marcus’s world.

And that was the crux of the problem, their different worlds. Her recent experience with how ruthless the media could be had crushed her, filling her with self-doubt. She had been just as isolated as Marcus appeared in those photographs, everybody believing the worst in her. She was finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel of her year from hell. The newshounds had found new fodder, finally leaving her in peace once she had been found not responsible for the accident and given an honorable discharge from the Coast Guard. Plus, she had a new job she could be proud of, complete with wonderful new friends.

If she allowed something to develop with Marcus, the press would have a field day with her past. She didn’t know if she could survive being the focus of the public’s scrutiny again. Especially after the sensational story they’d portrayed of her relationship with her best friend, Paul, had put the nail in her coffin. She still lived with the sting of the betrayal she’d experienced during that time. She didn’t want Marcus’s association with someone who had been branded guilty in the court of public opinion to put his reputation at risk.

Emma shook herself out of her musings as she followed Marcus down a long driveway. She would not let herself fall into that pit of despair again. Nor would she allow herself to hope for something that could never be between them. They could remain friends, but that was as far as it would go.

Coming to the end of the driveway, she stared at the gorgeous house they were pulling up to. It wasn’t overly large and sat on the bluff overlooking Lake Michigan, offering an epic view. The Tuscan-style house painted a pale tan would have been at home in the Italian countryside. It boasted many windows, and she knew the inside would be just as beautiful, but as Emma climbed out of her car and looked at the house, she wanted to walk right through it to the back yard and take in the view of the lake. She could see the water beyond the side where the driveway was; the dappled light reflecting on the water was mesmerizing as the sun started to set.

What she wouldn’t give to live on a property like this. Emma loved her apartment with its view of the lake, but sometimes she wished she could have more privacy. Here, she could lounge outside for hours without anyone disturbing her.

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